


Together

by Teramina



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, character death tag is the canon one, not really much ship stuff but canon relationships are mentioned so, that center a lot around his survivors guilt and suicidal ideation, warnings for basically everything dylan is thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 05:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14074218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teramina/pseuds/Teramina
Summary: (is it cheating to just write "dylan mathis and the terrible horrible no good very bad day"?)Anyway, sort of a vignette that got out of hand and turned into multiple scenes, Dylan's perspective of that night





	Together

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you plan to just do a short one shot and then it's two days later and you have over 4000 words of concentrated dylan angst
> 
> anyway thanks to [joyfullyyoursdav](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joyfullyyoursdav/pseuds/joyfullyyoursdav) and the taz fic writers discord for encouraging me to actually post this and not just sit on it like the angst dragon i am

He'd thought that drinking would be the end of his evening. That he'd waste away the hours on cheap whiskey until he felt okay enough to go home and pass out, forget all his troubles.

He’d thought that maybe, somehow, things would turn out okay. That he could be happy for his sister, and _just_ happy. That they’d work it out somehow, and it would keep being the three of them, like it had always been.

He'd thought- well, it didn't matter anymore, did it.

It had been around 11:30 when it happened. Barely the start to that kind of night. Dylan hadn’t really had much planned, it was more of just an excuse to get away from everything.

But then he'd smelled it. The blood in the air. And a feeling in his gut that told him somehow, everything was _wrong._ That the world just got shifted out of place.

He didn't even think about it. He just ran.

And then he stopped. Because lying in the middle of the square, covered in blood, was Jeremiah Blackwell. _Jem._

And, _god_ , the scene was horrific. Whoever had attacked him hadn't just been trying to kill him, they'd practically gutted him. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. For a moment, he _didn't_ believe it. Because Jem wasn't dying, he couldn't be dying, he wasn't supposed to die, it didn't make sense.

And then it slammed into him, the realisation of how little time they had left, and he rushed to Jeremiah's side.

"Jem?” He asked, terrified. He didn’t even know what he was asking. _‘Are you okay?’_ , maybe, but the answer to that was a clear no. _‘What do I do if you die, how do I keep going?’_ was a strong candidate.

"Dylan? 'sat you?" Jeremiah murmured, his words slurring together. He looked like he could barely keep his eyes open, head listing to one side. His hands were clasped over his stomach, but they weren't doing much to stop the fact that he was bleeding out, and quickly.

No, no, no, no, _no_ . He couldn't die, what were they supposed to do without him? Didn't he know how much Anne needed him? How much _Dylan_ needed him?

He clumsily lifted Jeremiah into his arms, trying not to hurt him any more than he’d been hurt already. Jem winced, and Dylan couldn't tell if that was his fault, or just the injuries. Either way, he felt the most guilty he’d ever felt, almost sick to his stomach. His hand cupped the side of Jem’s face, supporting his head so they could see each other.

"Yeah, yeah it’s me, I-” he faltered. He didn’t know what to say, couldn't find the right words, but he didn’t have time to mess this up. “Is- is there anything I can do? Fuck, Jem, who did this to you?”

Jeremiah didn’t answer, just kept staring at Dylan, only half conscious, a strange expression on his face. Dylan’s heart started racing faster. “Come on, say something, please!”

He didn't. His breathing was so slow now, Dylan supporting his entire weight.

Jem lifted one of his hands shakily from his stomach, blood soaked fingers clinging weakly to the front of Dylan’s shirt, not in panic, but maybe an attempt at comfort?

"Glad you're here, Dyl," he whispered softly, closing his eyes, a small smile on his face.

The irony of the situation made him almost laugh through his tears - when did he start crying? Jem was one of the two people he cared most about in the world, any other day he would be so happy to hear that, but not now, not when he might never hear anything from him again. Dylan would happily give up anything, his own life, any chance of seeing Jem again, if it meant Jem got to survive. He was such a good person, he didn’t deserve to die, not like this.

He was so still now, the smile starting to drop from his face.

“Jem?” Dylan asked softly, shaking him ever so slightly. If Jeremiah could still hear him, he was showing no signs of it.

“Jem?” He asked again, more firmly this time. Jeremiah was still breathing, only just, but definitely unconscious.

The world seemed to stop for a moment, freezing in time, just a panicked Dylan and a slowly dying Jeremiah.

And then his breathing stopped too. One second it was there, the next it wasn’t, and Dylan tried to check for a heartbeat and found nothing and _no!_

"No, Jem, no, wake up, please, come on, wake up!"

Jeremiah didn't move. Didn’t respond. Was _dead_.

Dylan couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, he didn't- He didn't know what to do and he just- why couldn't he breathe, what was happening and how could he get out of it, because the world was crashing down around him and this wasn't real, this _couldn't_ be real. People died here all the time, sure, but not _Jem_ , that just wasn’t _possible._

He hugged Jem’s body closer to him, crying in earnest. It was like his brain just couldn't accept he was dead, it was rebelling at the concept, but he couldn't stop thinking about it either, and every time the two clashed it felt like his world was falling apart all over again and all he could do was scream in frustration and grief.

He didn't care that his screams were drawing attention. He barely noticed when people started crowding around, all the businesses on the corner emptying their patrons to see what the fuss was about.

He _did_ notice when they started to drag him away from Jeremiah.

"No, you can't, get off me, I'm not leaving him!"

"Dylan Mathis, you're under arrest for the suspected murder of Jeremiah Blackwell," said someone. Dylan didn’t know who. He couldn't focus on their face, their voice, because he was still reeling- they thought he killed Jem? How could they think that? Dylan could never have done that, not in a million years, not if it was his only chance left to save himself.

_How could they think he did this??_

"No, you've got the wrong person, I didn't kill him!” he yelled at whoever was trying to drag him away. This wasn’t him, _this wasn’t him!_

He kept kicking and screaming and trying to get away all the way to the jailhouse, but he didn’t have the strength - or the strength of will - to break free of them. Maybe he could have as a wolf, but that took anger and adrenaline that he just, couldn't muster. He was scared, and angry, yeah, but on the whole he just felt empty. Confused. Broken.

The longer this went on, the less he seemed to feel anything. He kept spacing out through the rest of it. Nothing unexpected. He got thrown in a cell. They read him a bunch of legal bullshit, what he was accused of, the fact that he was the only suspect. The law requiring that they execute him first thing tomorrow morning.

So he had approximately eight hours left to live. He should care about that. Feel _something_. Fear. Anger. Injustice. Anything.

He didn’t.

He just sat in his cell, turned away from the bars, and waited.

But before they left, something unexpected happened. Sheriff Connors wanted to have a talk with him, alone. What could he possibly have to say?

It wasn’t like Dylan had much of a choice one way or another. He watched as Connors pulled a chair in front of the cell and sat in it, a concerned expression on his face.

“Look, son, you keep saying you didn’t kill Mr Blackwell, and I’m inclined to believe you. But you gotta understand, it’s not as simple as just trusting my intuition. I gotta give them a suspect, and right now, you’re the only one who knows anything. If we can’t find the real killer, they’re gonna come after you, no matter what I do. So please, work with me here. Do you know who killed him?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me what you do know?”

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to. But all the information Dylan had was either a secret, or it had just happened, and that Dylan couldn't think about, it was too much. He couldn't face it.

The worst part was, even then, he couldn't stop seeing it. Everything that had happened, in painful detail. He didn’t know what would happen if he tried to talk about it, but he knew, in his soul, that he couldn't.

“No.”

Connors sighed.

“Okay. Well. Just sit tight for now then. I gotta keep you in the cell, but if you need anything, let me know.” He turned to leave, then paused for a second, looking back at him. “Also, you might wanna take that shirt off.”

What? Dylan looked down. Oh. Oh, right. He was absolutely covered in Jeremiah’s blood.

He stared at it for a second, almost uncomprehendingly, and then it registered, and he was struck with the overwhelming urge to get the shirt as far away from him as possible.

He fiddled with the buttons, trying to undo them, but his fingers were shaking too much for any kind of dexterity. He tried to pull it over his head, but it wouldn’t go, and the longer he kept wearing it, the more trapped he felt, panicking like he’d just been hit by some weird blood specific claustrophobia.

He finally got it off, tearing it a little, and threw it to the other corner of the room, leaving him in just a slightly blood stained undershirt.

And then he was stuck in the cell, alone, with nothing to do but think about what just happened.

Why hadn't he been with him?

Honestly, Dylan was glad they planned to hang him in the morning. The less time he had to spend here, where nothing felt right anymore, where the world was irreparably changed and the pain of loss so fresh in his heart, the better. This was the worst thing he'd ever experienced, and there was no fixing it. Death would at least give him a chance at seeing Jem again.

And if not, well, at least he wouldn't have to feel like this.

If he’d been with him, this wouldn’t have happened. Jeremiah would still be alive, or they’d both be dead, or either way, they’d still be together. But no, he’d run off like a coward to drink away his feelings and he’d let his best friend (so much more than a best friend) die.

This was his fault. He didn’t kill anyone, never laid a hand on Jeremiah, except to help, but make no mistake, this was because of him. He deserved to be here, in this cell. And if they thought he deserved to die, well, you’d hear no complaints from him.

Just two days ago, their trio had felt inseparable. Dylan and his sister and her husband, the three of them finally a family by law, the papers to prove what they’d been all along. Sure, there were parts of it Dylan wasn’t happy with, but he loved Anne and he loved Jeremiah, he could have learned to be content with the way things were. As long as they were together.

And now Jeremiah was dead. Dylan to be executed. And Anne left alone.

That, at least, was something he regretted. Anne deserved so much better than to lose her husband and her twin in one night. And he wouldn’t be there to help get her through it, the way they’d both helped each other after their father died.

At least she’d still have their mother. Even if their mother hadn’t known about the wedding. Dylan had kept his word, told no one, would take the secret to the grave. But it was support, and that was better than nothing.

His mom came to visit eventually. Anne wasn’t with her. Probably still asleep, at this hour. She wanted to talk to him about what happened, told him that she’d hired some out-of-towners to come solve the case, that she was gonna get him out of this.

His mom was a good person, he respected her, and he didn’t want to hurt her, so he let her talk. Let her promise that this wasn’t the end, she was gonna ensure it. He believed she would try. No one ever got Abigail Mathis to back down once she set her mind to something. But he couldn't bring himself to care. Not about this, not about his life, not about anything. His mind just kept replaying what happened with Jeremiah, like the memory had been branded to the inside of his skull.

He wished he could make her stop caring. She was fighting for him, doing everything she could, and he didn’t have the heart to tell her he didn’t want her to. That he just wanted to stop feeling like this, feeling so empty and yet so full of emotion it felt like he was falling apart. Maybe he _was_ falling apart. Maybe that’s what he wanted.

He eventually just told her he was tired, and curled up on the bench, facing away from her. It wasn’t a lie. He was tired, more tired than he’d ever been, a bone deep exhaustion that wouldn’t go away. But he didn’t think he could sleep. He just lay there, and didn’t move an inch, his slow breathing the only indication he hadn’t already joined Jem in the afterlife. And, eventually, she left.

* * *

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur. There wasn’t anything he could tell the detectives that he hadn’t already told the sheriff. Not at first, anyway.

He could have done without the joke about Jeremiah’s ghost, hated the way it made him instantly snap to attention at the hope of seeing him again, only to have that hope immediately crushed.

But they weren’t bad people. Anne, at least, trusted them enough to tell them about the wedding. And Dylan trusted Anne. So, when they asked, he explained everything.

Every word hurt to say. But it was a minor pain in comparison to what he’d been feeling all night. And maybe this way, they’d figure out the real culprit. Not to save him, he didn’t want to be saved, but for justice, and for Jeremiah.

* * *

Dawn was breaking when he heard the three of them make their way back to the station with the sheriff. He’d spent the past hour pretending to sleep. Maybe not pretending. He wasn’t sure. Nothing felt real yet. But he was pretty sure he hadn’t actually fallen asleep, just laid there in a daze.

He was only vaguely paying attention to the conversation taking place behind him, more out of something to do than any real stake in it.

But then he heard Connors’ confession, and his stomach seemed to drop out from under him.

_Connors_ had killed Jeremiah? And just, he just lied about it? Pretended it was Dylan’s fault, pretended like he knew nothing and was just a well meaning sheriff, when he had been the murderer the whole time??

And he killed him for, what, to stop the mining deal going through? So he’d have the power back in this town? His own comfort was worth more than Jeremiah’s _life?_ Than Liam’s? Than all the people who needed that deal to go through?

Whatever Connors had become, he wasn’t a lawmaker anymore. This wasn't _justice_. He wasn’t worthy of the title of Sheriff.

In that moment, Dylan was more angry than he ever remembered being. It was coursing through his veins, blocking out everything else, providing him with a singular focus - the need to get _revenge_.

This was the man who had torn his life apart, who had hurt Jeremiah so much and just left him there to die, who had left Anne without a husband.

And when those emotions hit breaking point, something inside of him _changed._

The shift itself wasn’t unfamiliar, he’d been doing it his whole life, even if he still had trouble controlling it sometimes. But that was only ever with the moon. Sometimes a few days outside the full moon if he was having a rough day. Never in the daylight. Normally that just, didn’t happen. But here, and now, with everything that had happened that night, everything that happened in the past few days, and everything he’d just learned spurring his emotions on, it was like a dam had burst, more powerful than he’d ever been, but surrendering all control to it.

Across the room, he saw Errol make eye contact with him, register everything that was happening, and raise his arm to shoot the lock off of Dylan’s cage.

The next part happened very quickly, fueled solely by vengeance and rage.

He slammed Connors up against the wall, thinking about everything the man had done, everything he deserved to pay for.

Connors stabbed him with the blade he was holding, but Dylan barely noticed, too focused on hurting him like he hurt Jem, hurt Anne, hurt Dylan himself.

Connors begged for mercy, like the coward he was, but Dylan wasn’t letting him have it. He dragged the knife out from where it was buried in his side, and shoved it through Connors’ heart, pinning him to the wall.

He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, staring at the man he just killed - at the man who killed Jeremiah - letting himself slowly morph back to human as he processed everything that just happened.

And then the adrenaline started to wear off, and everything he’d been ignoring flared back into focus.

He grimaced, his breath catching, as he realised just how much pain he was in. His entire torso was on fire, and- had that been a silver blade? _Shit._

He tentatively put a hand to his right side, where the pain was radiating from. In an instant, it was covered in blood. Blood that was starting to drip down his chest, soaking his undershirt, mixing with the remnants of Jeremiah’s that were still staining it.

The next thing he noticed was the dizziness, the wooziness, that were getting rapidly worse. He fell to his knees, the world spinning around him.

He could see Errol stumbling over to him, as fast as his bullet wound would allow. Dylan could tell he was saying something, but he couldn't hear the words, there was a ringing in his ears he couldn't seem to shake, blocking out the rest of the world, reducing it to a soft muffled buzz.

Errol switched tactics, slapping at his face, claws grazing his skin slightly, and the new source of pain was enough to bring back his focus, aggression and anger and fear all kicking his body into motion, shifting him slightly more towards the wolf.

He was still in pain, still felt sick and dizzy, but he could hear, and he could see. And Errol was still talking, about Jeremiah, about Connors, about everything in the world that was unfair, that Dylan should be mad about.

The wound was still too fresh to ignore it. He _was_ mad, he was lost and frustrated and angry at the world and at Connors for hurting everyone he cared about, for how much was taken from him in just one night.

Another wave of pain flared through him, his breathing turning shaky. He was trying to keep up the change, for Errol if nothing else, he was trying so hard to help him. But it was _difficult_ , he’d never transformed with the sun in the sky before, and everything hurt and he just wanted to give into it, to make the pain stop, he was so tired.

Errol lifted him to his feet, and he was hit with another wave of dizziness, breaking his concentration. He wasn’t sure how human he was anymore, all his focus on just making sure he stayed upright.

The doors of the sheriff’s station opened, blinding him with the light from the rising sun. He squinted, letting his vision adjust. Outside was a crowd of people, from all over town. He could recognise his family among them, and the Blackwells. Did they even know their son was dead yet? It felt like eternity since it had happened, but it had only been a few hours. This might be the first they discovered of it.

People began talking, about everything that just happened. Reunions and explanations and secrets revealed. Dylan just let it wash over him, the sunlight warming his skin like a comfort, only just realising how cold he had been.

Maybe he was dying. Maybe he and Jeremiah were never meant to be apart, Dylan would always have died today.

He found he didn’t mind.

And in the wake of a town who knew the truth, the Blackwells mourning a son, Dylan barely standing, propped against the shoulder of a man who had risked so much for him, without even knowing him, Dylan let himself finally, _finally,_ sleep.

* * *

He woke to the dim lighting of a hospital at night, to his sister at his bedside, clutching his hand tightly in her own.

For a moment he was just confused, didn’t remember what had happened, thought that maybe the events of the last twenty four hours were all just a terrible dream.

And then it all came crashing down.

He bit his lip, trying not to cry. Instinctually, he went to curl in on himself but a white hot pain flared up in his side and nope, ow, turning sideways was not gonna happen.

He kept breathing until it faded back into a dull bearable ache, never letting go of his sister’s hand.

“Dylan, you all right? Do I need to get the doc in here?”

“No, I’m- I’m okay.” He assured her, as soon as he could find his voice. “Well, physically, anyway.”

Anne gave him a commiserating smile.

“That’s somethin’. You’ve been asleep nearly all day, I was gettin’ real worried.”

Dylan looked his sister in the eye, thinking about everything that had happened, and felt the unbearable guilt well up within him again. Before he knew it, all his apologies had come spilling out, him powerless to stop it.

“Anne, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I made you worry and I’m sorry I wasn’t there for him when he needed me and I’m sorry I let him die and I never wanted him to die, I-” he cut off, gasping for air. There were tears welling up painfully behind his eyes, he didn’t want to cry, but the need to was choking him, stopping him from talking.

“Dylan! Dylan, stop,” Anne said softly but firmly, holding out her other hand in a calming gesture. “This isn’t your fault, okay? The only person at fault here is that son of a bitch Connors, and you killed him. There are some things you can’t stop from happening, and losing someone you love like that is one of the hardest. You think I’m not feeling it too? But avenging him is the next best thing, and you did that. Everyone who deserves hell for this is already there.”

“What if it is though, what if I could have done something-,” he started, then stopped, realising what she’d said. “Wait… you knew?” He had never told Anne about that, never told Jem, didn’t want to ruin what they had, he cared about both of them too much.

“Dylan, I’ve known you my whole life, we were born together, you really think you can hide anything from me? I know you loved him like I did. I know that it couldn't have worked between you and I wish I could have done something to change that. And I know that even through all that, you were the most loving and supportive brother anyone could have ever asked for. I’ll always be indebted to you for that.”

She paused, gathering herself. If Dylan was having a hard time not crying, she was probably feeling the same.

“And… I’m glad he had you with him. When he died. He loved you too, even if not in the way you wanted, and you made his passing all the easier.”

That was what did it, what broke the floodgates, and once he started crying he couldn't stop. Anne leaned over to hug him, and he could feel the wetness on his shoulder that meant she was crying too.

“Hey, you gotta promise me something, okay?” she asked, once they had both calmed down a little.

“Yeah, anything,” he said, and he meant it.

“Don’t go doing anything stupid ‘cause of this. I know you feel like shit, and so do I - that probably ain’t gonna stop for a while. But I already lost my husband, and came damn close to losing my brother, so I’m tellin’ you right now, I won’t stand for that. Okay? I’m not losing both of you, I won’t.”

Anne really was a lot more perceptive than people gave her credit for. She’d always been that way, even as a child, noticing details adults tried to hide from her. Dylan just wasn’t used to it being directed at him. Before Jeremiah, he’d never had to keep a secret from her.

And she wasn’t wrong. He still felt like his entire world had been burned to the ground. Some part of him definitely still wished he had died along with Jem.

He didn’t know what he was going to do with himself now, and he was scared of it, of living in a world where everything he knew was different, would never be the same. Dying would be the easy way out.

But it would hurt Anne. It would hurt his mom. Everything he was feeling now, they’d have to experience twice. And he wasn’t that selfish. He didn’t have it within him to be.

“Dylan?” she prompted, when he didn’t respond immediately. “We get through this together, yeah? Like we always have.”

Dylan looked at his sister, and nodded.

“Yeah. Together.”


End file.
